


Pietà

by canniballistics



Category: Vassalord
Genre: Backstory, Headcanon, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/pseuds/canniballistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, he dreams of rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pietà

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mithen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/gifts).



> I've quoted a couple of pages from the Tokyopop publication of the first book; specifically, Cherry's dream sequence in the first ten or so pages. I hope that isn't much of a problem.

Sometimes, he dreams of rain.

It’s usually on nights (days, technically) after Chris has come back from being away for just a _little_ too long. A strange sort of comfort, the way he always announces his arrival in the same manner: a sword in the dark (or his back), traps set and obviously seen. Gambits that would work on any other vampire, were they not _him_. It’s their own sort of mating ritual, he supposes. But if it’s the excuse Chris needs to let himself feed, then Johnny doesn’t mind at all. What else is a father supposed to do, after all? If strange dreams come with it, then he’ll bear them with a smile.

Sometimes, he wonders if Chris dreams about the rain, too. Almost wants to ask if he remembers, but— He can never decide what answer he’d rather hear. 

It’s the sort of dream that plays like a movie: he’s aware of the dream, knows what will happen every time. Wants to change it, maybe save Chris from the cursed existence they share. (That _he_ inflicted on him.)

Wants to say he’s sorry.

But he’d been damned, really, from the first moment he laid eyes on him. Those wide eyes that had seen too much horror for such a small life, yet still remained so innocent and pure. It didn’t seem real, and sometimes Johnny had found himself wondering, cramped in a shoddy coffin with a small, _warm_ body clinging to his, if Chris was his own personal guardian angel, sent to save what little soul he had left.

It’s the reason he doesn’t think he could stand it if Chris said he remembered. To know that that sweet child is gone because of him—

So he dreams alone, in silence, as familiar horrors unfold before him.

\---

The rain had been almost deafening, a heavy downpour that obscured vision and made being outside near impossible. Johnny had been optimistic about it, relaxing back in his coffin down in the tomb and thumbing through an old book. In all honesty, he’d have preferred to go out today, since the clouds were blocking the sun, but it seemed that war was breaking out once again. Best not to go outside and get caught up in it. He’d had enough of wars for one lifetime, didn’t much feel like adding to another. To be perfectly honest, Johnny had never really liked the violence. Only ever killed to protect his Lord and Lady and their kingdom, and kept the burden of those deaths to himself. When he’d killed, it was out of necessity (when it came to his own free will, anyway; what he’d done _after_ his change had no excuse) — such pointless destruction now was ridiculous to him. 

It wasn’t until he became conscious of the faint echo of footsteps that he realized people were moving above. Not through the graveyard, not quite, but still close enough that he could hear them through the receding rain. Busy sounds, footsteps mixed with whinnying horses and clattering metal. They were making camp, it sounded like. Hopefully that didn’t mean they were bringing a battle to his front door… He shut his book with a snap, wanting to check out who his new neighbors were. He wasn’t particular to either side, really; both were led by blockheads who needed to learn to debate and talk their problems out, rather than taking up arms. The same could be said for any ruling party, though, couldn’t it? 

So he took no sides, only watched with a quiet disdain as countries tore each other apart over and over through the centuries. 

Once he was certain that night had fallen, he slipped out of the tomb, quick to spot their camp and thankful for the light drizzle instead of the monsoon that had pounding the earth the last few days. The men were mostly asleep, save for the night watches they’d posted; those would be easy enough to avoid, they never really paid too much attention. He shifted into a cloud of bats, flitting toward a less densely populated corner of the camp before shifting back, clothing himself in a uniform like he’d seen on one of the watchmen, just in case. One could never be too careful. The visit was more out of curiosity than anything else – governments seemed to be sending younger and younger men to die for their diplomatic failures. He wanted a look at these unfortunate men. (Besides, it’d been a while, but maybe one of the soldiers would be willing to keep him company for the night~ What could be better than a man in uniform, tired from days of marching and needing a stress relief? It was worth a shot, right?) 

He’d just begun to wander through the tents when he passed by a rather large one – the medical tent, from the look of it, a low, sonorous murmuring mixed with quiet groans slipping out from between the flaps of the entrance. Johnny stopped to peer inside, mood sobered at the sight of occupied beds. The majority of the men were sleeping soundly, though a few tossed and turned in their sleep. He could see the nurses making their rounds, making sure the men were comfortable and changing dressings as needed, the chaplain sitting with one soldier who looked worse off than the others. They were admirable jobs, to be sure. Johnny smiled just a little as he turned to leave, when the chaplain’s hair caught his attention. Soft blond hair in an ugly hairstyle (he’d once called it cultured, hadn’t he?) that no reasonable person with any fashion sense would keep.

It couldn’t be.

“Chris?”

He jumped back from the tent as the man looked up, eyes wide and breath coming up short as the fabric slipped back down into place behind him. He could still hear the goings-on in the tent, heard the man say, “Nurse? Did you call me?” 

_No._

Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t really Chris, his Chris. Old memories, of reading books and a tiny, grumbling stomach, flooded to the forefront of his mind. He was probably just being a hopeful old man, wasn’t he? Hadn’t thought about the kid in years, hadn’t seen him in even longer, but it felt like he’d only _just_ gotten used to sleeping alone again, to not needing to find actually edible human food. No, _his_ Chris barely came up to his hip, liked reading together and counting the stars. He certainly wasn’t…huge and grown up and foreign. (Time tended to do that to a person, though. Didn’t it?) Maybe the name was just a coincidence, and someone else was fond of bad haircuts.

A shuddering sigh, and Johnny closed his eyes, passed his hand over his face. Something as simple as a haircut was no reason to get all worked up like this. It could have been a mistake, just a coincidence. There was no need to jump to conclusions and get all agitated just because the man had a crappy haircut and was named Chris. He needed to make sure somehow. 

It wasn’t difficult, then, to loiter around and wait for him to finish praying over the wounded soldiers. Not with a goal in mind, and he made certain to imitate the other soldiers’ accents and mannerisms the few times he was happened upon. A small thanks to the darkness for helping to conceal his identity, and he made himself comfortable against a tree a little ways away as he waited. An hour must have passed, at least, and Johnny found himself casting worried glances toward the east as time wore on. Surely he wasn’t going to stay in there all night? Who knew if he’d have another chance? 

Johnny had almost begun to give up, the clouds on the horizon gaining a dull red sheen on their bellies (shit, the sun was actually coming up- he wouldn’t be able to leave the tomb as he pleased for a few days), when the tent flaps opened and the man in question exited. He was handsome, with a good build and a pair of glasses perched on his face. It actually...looked really good on him. The haircut, that is, and Johnny took a deep breath to steady himself. He had to make this fast, lest he run out of time. A quick shift, changing into a cloud of bats again so that he could get back over to the man quickly, and when he regained his own form, he was clothed in the same coat and slacks he’d been wearing when they’d first met. (Sans the fur trim, of course- and some small part of him hoped that Chris had worn it ragged, or at least thought of him when he saw it.) Couldn’t get too close, though; he didn’t want to risk it, if this was the wrong person. Devastating wasn’t _quite_ the word, but it’d probably suffice.

He waited until the man had gone a good distance, standing still as he walked away from him, before speaking. 

“Chris—”

Just loud enough for the two of them to hear it, and he took a deep breath, ignored the way his heart jumped when the man jerked to a stop. It was almost funny, watching him glance from side to side in confusion.

“Chris. Over here. Turn around.”

The man froze, and Johnny prayed he wasn’t making a mistake, digging his nails into his palm as the other moved. Slow to turn around and face him, but for this, at least, he had to be patient. He frowned upon seeing him, and really, Johnny could have laughed at how sick the look of ignorance on his face made him. Maybe it was the wrong man, after all. A careless wave of his hand, turning to leave.

“Sorry, I- I have the wrong guy. Sorry for bo—”

“ _Master?_ ”

It froze him in his tracks, and as much as it terrified him, he knew he’d have to look at him again. The naked shock on his face, and for just a second, Johnny could swear he saw the kid from the graveyard in his eyes. The look lasted for only a second before confusion overtook it, and Chris shook his head, frowning as he pulled off his glasses to clean them.

“No, it’s- impossible. I apologize; I’ve been up all night. I must have been,” and he slid his glasses back onto his face, “imagining- things…” He seemed almost as surprised that he hadn’t vanished as he had been to see him in the first place. “It can’t be. Master…?”

And only then would Johnny let himself smile. He wanted to reach out, pull him into a hug. Apologize for abandoning him with the church all those years ago. But if he did, he knew he’d never let go. He wouldn’t be able to. So he stepped back when Chris reached out for him, shook his head. Couldn’t bear the look of hurt on his face, and in that moment, it became too much. 

“Master, for so long, I…”

A rustle in the bushes next to them was his saving grace, and as soon as Chris’s attention was pulled away from him, Johnny transformed, dispersing himself into his cloud of bats and flying away as fast as he could. (He couldn’t help checking back behind him, though, and he breathed a sigh of relief at seeing that it was just another soldier finishing up after relieving himself in the brush.) First things first: he had to get back to his tomb, back to safety. The sun was coming up, and he wasn’t in any mood to tempt fate. Once he was safely tucked away in the darkness, he could reflect on what had happened.

_The kid was still alive._

He knew it was thanks to the nuns and their meticulous care. Their faith wouldn’t have let them abandon him; even if it had, there was no way they could have left him to die. They’d brought him up properly (though he hadn’t really counted on his entering the clergy) and helped Chris survive where he himself could not. Johnny couldn’t have asked for more. And maybe, deep down, he could allow himself some small measure of pride – if he hadn’t taken him in in the first place, he would have starved to death, or frozen, or been killed by the armies marching at that time. If he hadn’t been able to let go of him, too; a vampire was far from a good caretaker for a child. So maybe he had a hand in Chris’s survival as well, and the thought was more of a comfort than he could have ever imagined.

His plans to return the next day were foiled by the sun, and though it wasn’t a completely clear sky, it was still intermittent enough to make him wary. It went on for one week, two, before dark enough clouds settled in. Maybe he could have gone at night, as he had before, but the thought daunted him, kept him inside the tomb a little longer than he’d wanted to. (Besides, he wanted to look his best the next time they met; no more raggedy old clothes. It took more energy than he was used to expending these days, and without a steady source of blood, it made it difficult.) All the while, he’d kept track of the platoon and their movements, listening as their camp moved closer. It sounded like they were just passing through, but if they left, would he ever see Chris again? He had to see him, at least one more time. All had been peaceful of late; maybe the soldiers would be able to be on their way without seeing much more harm than they already had.

Such wishful thinking had to be punished, of course: he knew something was wrong as soon as he heard the first shout. Nothing could ever go well, could it?

It was near the middle of the day, and to be fair, it seemed like the soldiers had gotten lazy. Complacent with their luck of not having run into any enemies, they weren’t prepared for when that luck ran out. That first shout was followed soon after by the crack of a gun, shots ringing out through the air not long after. They’d been caught off guard, ambushed, and Johnny’s fingers dug into the wooden side of his coffin as he shut his eyes and listened. He’d vowed not to take sides. He couldn’t go up there.

(But what about Chris?)

The thought had him rushing to the stairs, creeping out of the tomb and hoping no one had seen him. He couldn’t abandon him again. 

As soon as he opened the door to the graveyard, he knew it’d be bad. Plumes of smoke rose from the camp, the clash of metal and men screaming almost deafening in the air. The clouds looked ready to bust, the air thick and crackling with electricity. Chris would be okay, right? It was a commonly known fact that military chaplains went unarmed, weren’t a part of the conflict. His enemies would respect that, right? Johnny clothed himself in his priest’s garb; an outfit he hadn’t worn in a few years, not since he’d been shown to the casket of a Sleeping Beauty. A bittersweet memory that he shoved back and away, that wasn’t important right now. All he could hope for was that the soldiers would see it and know not to fire on him. 

_Please, please let him be all right._

He ducked out into the field where the battle was taking place, trying to cover his head with his hands as the clouds decided to open. It would be so much easier to search in his bat form, but he didn’t want to take the risk of being spotted and shot at, or even worse: hit by lightning. He’d be absolutely no use to Chris then, wouldn’t be able to pull him away from all of this to somewhere safe. Where were the nurses and chaplain stationed during a battle? Or, an even better question: where had they been when the attack began? Were they (Chris) safe?

The smell of blood was thick in the air, made him sick and ravenous at the same time. Johnny closed his eyes, trying to focus on finding Chris instead of pulling one of the dead soldiers to the side for a meal. There were more important things at stake here. To be honest, Johnny wasn’t sure why it was so important to him. He hadn’t seen the kid in years, hadn’t been there for him when he grew up. All he’d done was give him some food and drop him off at a church. Perhaps it was that ounce of pride- that someone had survived and flourished, and his actions had contributed to that fact. A monster like him, a vampire, had helped to save a life; there was someone he knew who would laugh if he knew how happy it made him.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the whole truth. It was the fact he’d been loved by a child who had already seen the evils of the human race, by a soul that was still so pure and precious. The small handful of weeks he’d spent with the kid had made him feel human again, made _him_ feel precious. _God, if you really do exist, don’t take that away from me again. Don't take_ him _away again._

“Chris!” 

It seemed hopeless. He ducked past a pair of men grappling and trying to kill each other, shouting the name and searching wildly. (And if he maybe helped the soldier from Chris’s regiment, well. He wasn’t telling anyone.) He’d forgotten how tedious it was to do things this way – how did anything get done? Another shout, weaving in between various scrapes and checking the fallen. He wasn’t here. At least, not that he could find, and Johnny almost let himself sigh in relief.

“Master!”

He whipped around, searching for the source of the shout. Chris was running toward him, hair plastered to his skull and wet clothes clinging to him as he moved. It took Johnny a moment to register where he was, but when he finally did, his heart hurt more than he’d thought possible. Chris had been checking the graveyard for him. Had he even tended to any of the fallen soldiers? Some small part of him was more than pleased with it though, touched and thrilled that he’d cared enough to have looked for him. 

“Master, I—” 

The interruption this time was wholly unwelcome, and Johnny wasn’t sure if he shouted or not when a bullet planted itself square in Chris’s chest. 

_No._

_“Chris!!”_

It was strange, how all the sound seemed to fade from hearing. Everything except for the sound of the rain, and labored breathing as he watched Chris fall. He didn’t care about being seen anymore. How was he supposed to? Johnny flew to his side, kneeling in the mud and gentle as he lifted the wounded man into his lap. He was losing a lot of blood, fast. Shit. _Shit_. He’d never been very good at first aid, when he’d still needed it. Just wrapped himself up long enough to get to one of the castle doctors, and let them do the rest. What was he supposed to do now? How could he save him?

Chris smiled as he coughed up a mouthful of blood. “I- I was looking for you…”

His heart felt like it was shattering as he clutched him close, shut his eyes. “I know, Chris. You should have- gotten to somewhere safe instead. Stop talking, I’ll find a doctor.”

“I was safe with you, Master..” Another wet cough. “I never stopped looking for you.”

Johnny was silent then, his breath catching in his throat. _Shut up, don’t tell me things like that. Don’t say such sweet things, when you’re about to—_

“Master… Master…? Am I…going to die?”

He couldn’t say yes. It was the truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Besides, what right did he have to be here with him, at this moment? The nuns were the one who raised him- maybe it was best that he uphold their teachings. “Death is not something to fear, Chris. It merely means you are going to God’s side.” 

“I…don’t want to die.” His breathing was labored, and Johnny hated that he couldn’t do anything more than hold him close, try to keep him as warm as he could. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die yet…”

(But there _was_ something he could do, wasn’t there?)

“Master… Not yet…”

Could he do it? Would Chris ever forgive him? It was dying, in a way, but it was also the only way he knew of to keep him from truly dying. He looked down at the man in his arms, wondered if he could bring himself to do it. He’d become a chaplain, a servant of God, bringing His message to troops when they were too far to attend regular services. To do this would mean making him an affront to God, make him something hideous and unnatural. He would be making such a good person into a monster. _Should_ he do it?

One gloved hand rose, weak as it grasped for him. “I still…want to…be by your side…”

And he knew then that no matter what the answer was that he _would_ do it. If Chris asked it of him, he would give him the world. Johnny was gentle as he clasped that hand, took a deep breath. “All right, Chris.”

His eyes opened, and Johnny shivered just a little. He didn’t want to know if Chris could actually see him or not. “But can you swear that you will not regret anything that happens from this point on?” If he said yes, then—

In all honesty, Johnny wasn’t sure if it was a nod or Chris shifting in his arms. He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t care. Just set him down gently on the ground before pulling back one of his sleeves and tearing his wrist open. 

“Hurry, Chris. Drink this.”

He felt sick to his stomach as he watched his blood spill into Chris’s mouth, praying that this was the right thing to do, hoped that it was what Chris actually wanted.

An eternity passed (or was it just a few minutes?) and when Chris’s eyes opened, they were no longer human.

_I’m sorry._

\---

He wakes with a jolt, breath coming quick but trying not to move too much. He doesn’t want to disturb the figure beside him, and Johnny smiles as he looks at him. Can’t help (falling in love with) the peaceful face he makes, closing his eyes again as Chris sighs. It’s about time for him to wake up, too; sure enough, the mattress shifts beside him as Chris gets up, and Johnny stays as still as possible, pretending to be asleep. (Well, he’s still mostly asleep, so maybe it’s not that much of a stretch.) Chris can probably read the change in his posture, but he’s had years of practice to perfect the art of feigning sleep. Still, he can’t help teasing him. A quiet sigh, shifting and rolling, timing it just right so that his hand falls into the space his son had until recently occupied. 

_Let’s see what he does now! The jerk, leaving while I’m still asleep and anemic. It’s his fault anyway, how dare he!_

He can hear Chris sigh, could imagine he was rolling his eyes as fabric rustles. Getting dressed already? _What a cruel son!_ A small moment of surprise at a touch to his forehead, gentle as fingertips brush the hair away from his face. He covers it with another quiet sigh, and if he hadn’t been paying attention, he might not have heard the quiet chuckle.

The mattress dips again, just a little, and Johnny’s breath catches at the feel of dry, warm lips against his skin. Damn. The jig is up. He opens his eyes as Chris pulls away, smiling at him as color fills his cheeks. 

It’s moments like this that make him wonder if that sweet child he’d once known isn’t really gone.

“I knew you were awake, Master.”

Defiant, bratty, and Johnny chuckles as he rolls onto his back to watch him dress. “Of course you did, Cherry. Maybe I’ll let you believe that~”

A long-suffering sigh as Chris pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s Charley. _Charley_. Honestly, will you ever pay attention?”

“Uh huuuh. Sure it is, _Charley_. Charley the cute little Cherry. I think I like that.” A smirk as Chris jolts, and honestly, hasn’t he learned by now that fake glares do nothing for him?

“I won’t be coming back here again,” he murmurs, pulling on his coat and adjusting the vestment across his shoulders. He’s halfway to the door before he stops, looks back at him. “…rest well, Master.”

Johnny just smiles at him, waves. “See you in a couple weeks, my sweet Cherry.”

Chris doesn’t respond, just walks past Minea with a nod as she holds the door open for him. She brings Johnny a blood pack, the straw already set up for him, as he sits back and sighs.

He hasn’t asked Chris if he regrets what happened, not in all these years. But sometimes, times like this, he likes to think that the answer is no. So he doesn’t regret it, either.

**Author's Note:**

> So this got really incredibly long, more so than I'd intended. I apologize if it's too long, I just. Tend to develop ridiculous _feelings_ when it comes to these two. They're some of my favorite characters, and I'm totally thrilled I got to write them for you this Yuletide! I truly hope you enjoyed reading this, and I am rather sorry for all the depressing.
> 
> (Also I'm a stalker and saw on your Dear Yuletide Author letter post - I promise I'm working on new translations! The group I was in died, but my very own Cherry and I have decided to attempt getting scanlations going again. I hope we can fill your gay vampire needs soon!)


End file.
